


Feathery Wings

by Veul_McLannon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (I am the lesbianism), (the title is terrible but I couldn’t think of a good one), F/F, Fluff, Lesbianism, Mildly sexy fluff?, Wings, they are in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 01:57:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veul_McLannon/pseuds/Veul_McLannon
Summary: Beelzebub has been running on empty since the Apocalypse failed to happen. Thankfully Dagon is around to help. Wing massages, anyone?





	Feathery Wings

In the aftermath of what should have been the Apocalypse, the heating system Downstairs decided to become intimately acquainted with the concept of irony, and broke. Everyone, accustomed as they were to considerably warmer climes, was not taking to the change well.

At least there weren’t any leaks any more. The icicles had taken care of that.

However, this was the least of Beelzebub’s problems. The amount of unnecessary bureaucracy in this place was- well, Hell. Not for the first time, she cursed the demon Crowley’s very existence; surely, given his apparent affinity for Holy Water, it should be having some kind of effect?

She lived in bitter, jaded hope that every curse burnt him, just a little at a time.

Her latest problem was the kid they had apparently hired to run messages. They wouldn’t _shut up_.

“... And then there are complaints from the Sullen in the Fifth Circle, my Lord Beelzebu-”

“Yes, I think this interview is over, actually,” Dagon drawled, appearing in the doorway like some kind of savio- of go- of... very helpful individual. She crossed the grimy, ice-covered room in three paces and wrapped herself across Beelzebub’s back, pressing her lips into the Lord of the Flies’ neck as her hands ran up her arms.

Beelzebub almost sighed, but settled for tutting impatiently, relaxing into the hold.

Dagon regarded the unfortunate messenger demon with an unimpressed eye. Her lip curled, showing freshly-sharpened teeth, as the creature quavered in their boots.

“Well go on. Bugger off.”

The demon vanished faster than you could say, ‘The Pit’.

Beelzebub didn’t move. “Well? You have szzzomething to report, Lord of the Fileszzz?”

“Yes, actually. You need a break,” Dagon muttered into Beelzebub’s neck.

“I have _work_ to-”

“ _And_ I’ve got another six letters wrongly addressed... you’d think by now they would have realised that there is actually a difference between Files and Flies, but apparently not.” She brandished the letters one-handed in front of Beelzebub’s face. The Lord of the Flies grabbed them, flicked through them impatiently, and really did sigh this time, displacing a small puff of flies.

“I wondered where thiszzz reply had gone... is it so difficult to learn our nameszzz? Iszz it? For the love of Szzzatan...”

“It’s... lucky we see so much of each other really, isn’t it?” Dagon purred against Beelzebub’s neck. “Or you would still be waiting...”

Beelzebub turned to face her. “Yeszzz, fine, _thank you_ , now what iszz it that you want?”

Dagon bared her teeth; less a threatening display than it seemed, but certainly not anything approximating a smile. “I told you. You need a break. I’m here to ensure you _get_ one.” She leant in closer, brushing their lips together lightly, before sinking one fang into Beelzebub’s lower lip.

The other demon gasped, moaned wantonly and darted forward- but Dagon danced out of her grasp, now grinning in earnest, her face splitting to display far more teeth than should reasonably be able to fit in her head.

“ _Teaszzzzze_ ,” buzzed Beelzebub agitatedly, taking a half-step towards her very own abomination. (She counted herself incredibly fortunate that she had managed to obtain such a prize. Most of the time.)

Dagon continued grinning, head cocked to one side. “Well, yes,” she said, “Not least because-”

She snapped her fingers and the sizable desk was pushed back against the wall; snapped them again and a decently-sized, if rather grimy* bed filled the room instead. In theory, both should not have fitted in the room, but then Dagon hadn’t considered that, and so, neither had the furniture.

Beelzebub’s four eyes snapped to it, and her corporation’s narrowed. “We don’t-”

“Shirt off.” Dagon had wandered towards the bed aimlessly, and was now perching on the edge. She looked up, saw Beelzebub hadn’t moved. “ _Now_ , you disobedient slut.”

“Oh, you _are_ a flatterer, you _beaszzzt_.” With a click of Beelzebub’s fingers, the shirt was on the floor. The jacket, tie and sash, however, were still on Beelzebub.

Dagon looked up again expectantly and snarled in immediate displeasure. “Do I have to do _everything_ myself?!” she bit out, stalking back towards her superior, and fairly ripping the rest of her clothes off her torso, taking the opportunity to run hands over newly bare, deliciously filthy flesh as she did so. She was a demon, after all, giving in to lust was rather part of the package. And she did _so_ want to-

“On the bed.” Her pale eyes flashed, her teeth dripping yellow ichor. (Beelzebub wasn’t sure she’d seen anything sexier in her life. And because she was also a demon, and therefore also pretty _au fait_ with the whole lust thing, she did as she was told, lying back into sheets which felt like they had the dirt of millennia ingrained in their threads. Which, she reflected, they probably did.)

The lesser demon was currently following through on her present desire, which was to pin Beelzebub’s unresisting arms above her head and lick a long stripe up her torso. She got what she wanted, too – save for the unresisting part, as Beelzebub seemed incapable of staying put, wriggling around most distractingly. Incorrigible. Unutterably delicious.

She was rewarded at the end of her journey with another fierce kiss, in which Beelzebub attempted, and comprehensively failed, to get the upper hand. Oh no. Dagon had _plans_ , and Beelzebub being in charge was not one of them. She flipped her over onto her front, straddling her hips, and ran both hands down her back, scratching with long nails just enough for her to notice it, just how Beelzebub liked it.

The other demon all but melted into the mattress, her breath escaping her in a long, buzzing moan. The flies perpetually buzzing around her person, however, redoubled their frantic circles instead.

Dagon smirked; leant over, close to her ear.

“Wings out,” she murmured, prompting a sharp intake of breath from the other, who, suddenly pliant as putty, complied in an instant.

And there they were: enormous, shedding feathers everywhere, and covered in all manner of filth; so grimy that nobody could have told what colour they had been originally. Dagon buried her face in the coverts, prompting Beelzebub to gasp properly this time, almost lifting off the bed as the huge things twitched.

They were so soft. Nothing down here had any right to be that delectable. And yet here they were, with the absolute _gall_ to be softer than- than- well, they were fucking soft, anyway.

She sank teeth gently into the nearest one, simply because she could, and Beelzebub nearly _screamed_ , the other flapping pathetically.

Dagon chuckled, let go. “Right, yes, this was supposed to be relaxing-” Beelzebub made an incredulous, breathy noise that made Dagon kind of want to give up on the whole idea and turn instead to more carnal activities, “- so just. Stay still, will you?... bitch,” she added as something of an afterthought.

A shudder ran through the other demon, and if anything she became even more closely acquainted with the mattress. She would sink through it at this rate.

The blonde huffed out another laugh, and turned to the task at hand. They were so _big_ , she could be here hours and probably still miss patches. She wanted terribly to just wrap one around herself like a feathered carpet – there was length and more – and they were so _soft_. Instead she began kneading at the place where Beelzebub’s wings joined her corporation; one of the most sensitive parts of a wing, and definitely the hardest to reach.

Beelzebub’s groan ended in a whine as Dagon ran her hands out over the leading edge of her wings and through her coverts, digging in and resettling cartilage and muscle, and broken feathers.

“Thiszzz... iszzz torture, Dagon.”

“That’s why you like it so much, idiot.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell, save for the soft buzzing of Beelzebub’s flies, almost lulling Dagon herself into a hypnotic state as she worked out knot after knot in the other’s wings.

She wasn’t _cleaning_ them – perish the thought – one of Beelzebub’s best qualities, Dagon had always thought, was just how _attractively_ she wore her grime. Certainly, they were all grimy in Hell, but Beelzebub had a certain _something_ about her that no other possessed. Dagon could have wrapped herself in it, in her particular, rotting-sweet stench, and been the most content any demon had any right to be for all eternity.

They might be Fallen, but they were still _beings of thought_ , and still capable of higher emotions, after all – arguably more capable than that prissy lot Upstairs. Certainly the day _they_ showed affection in a healthy manner would indeed herald the Apocalypse – the real one this time, where all of Creation, Above and Below, would be obliterated.

They might be Fallen, but Dagon couldn’t imagine herself anywhere else: she had _chosen_ to Fall, after all, fully aware that Heaven wasn’t all that. Of course, neither was Hell, but at least she had found out for certain.

And she had Beelzebub. And these filthy, decaying, _wonderful_ wings to pet and preen and ador-

She was content.

A good hour later, she ran one last sweep over the leading edge of Beelzebub’s wings, before announcing that she was done.

There was no response. Even the flies were almost asleep in the air.

Dagon’s chest burned curiously as she leant down to kiss the top of Beelzebub’s head, smiling almost contentedly as she slipped off the bed and began the tedious work of organising her superior’s mail while she slept.

Even Lords of the Flies deserved their rest, after all.

 

* Even things newly created by demons from firmament had a tendency to absorb the filth of Hell; it was just something one got used to, and, if one had been around long enough, enjoyed. There was nothing quite like a layer of dirt for keeping the heat in.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please please do feel free to let me know if you liked it, I'm always terribly insecure about my lesbians, but I love them so much... (half the comments are me replying too, so Please don't let that stop you~ *winks*) hope you enjoyed xx


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